


Always

by Janekfan



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crying, Emma AU, Fear, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has EDS | Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, M/M, Sickfic, Teacher Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood, cough, jon is soft for martin, jon takes care of martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan
Summary: Martin isn't feeling well and Jon worries it's something worse.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 139
Collections: Emmaverse AU





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Really quick lil thing! So it may be terrible! But there aren't enough Marto sick fics out there for my buddies!

“Professor?” 

“Mm.” 

“Sir, excuse me?”

“Mm?” 

“Uncle Jon!” 

“Moll--What??” Jon lifted his head from where he’d been staring at his phone, leg jiggling under the table and one folded beneath him in the chair. “What did I say…oh.” Clearing his throat, he let his eyes wander along the queue, absently counting the gaggle of students he’d inadvertently left waiting. “Oh.” 

“Are you alright, Professor?” 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed.” They had the decency not to snicker, lord they were too good to him. “I’ve been. Well...”

“Distracted.” Molly offered up, finishing his sentence sardonically. 

“Quite.” She must have seen something in his face because she frowned.

“Is it, is it Uncle Martin?” Fear, barely conveyed in the miniscule tremble in her voice, had her reaching for her own phone, checking for any messages she might have missed while it was silenced. 

“He’s fine, he’s. He’s been under the weather.” And Jon allowed his own anxiety to show, dragging both hands through his hair to completely ruin it. “A, uh. A chest infection. He’s alright. Emma said she’d be in touch if.” It was fine. Martin was fine. It had been so long since the Lonely had taken hold enough to make something like this dangerous so if the humming, jittery, worry would be kind enough to leave him alone and let him finish this class--

“You should go home, sir.” A chorus of “yes, of course” and “we understand” followed suit and he glanced at the clock. Class had barely begun. 

“No, everything is--” the notification for a message lit up his cell and the jingle threw the room into quiet and he nearly dove for it. The bank. An advert. Wonderful. “--Fine.” But he wasn’t so sure. That nagging, unsettled, gnawing drone in the back of his mind where the Eye still liked to lurk, to spy, flooded him with second thoughts. 

“We can email with questions. We’ve done it before, no worries.” And while Jon didn’t like being reminded of his _worst_ days, they had a point. He wasn’t unreachable. He had appointments with all of them during his upcoming office hours. A firm hand landed on his shoulder, squeezed, Molly. 

“Go home. I think we’ll all feel better for it.”

“If you’re absolutely certain--and, and you promise, _promise_ ,” he lifted a stern finger, “to contact me if you have trouble?” 

They all but shoved him from the lecture hall, Molly already handing him his cane, another student fetching his coat and scarf from the hook while he packed up the most pertinent work. It was Friday anyway and this section was very tight knit being made up of students he’d had the pleasure of teaching before. Too good to him, indeed. 

Rushing, Jon made the next train with seconds to spare, firing off a quick text to Emma as he exited the underground right as her number flashed across the top of the screen. 

“Baba?” The word trembled. He was right to leave when he did. 

“I’m here, Habibti, I’m coming home.” Juggling his bag, the phone, his cane-- “I can see our flat.”

“O’okay. See you soon, Baba.” Within the next moment he was through the door, all but throwing off his coat, leaving his shoes wherever they fell to stride quickly into the sitting room. 

“ _Martin_.” Just a breath, relief, at seeing him laid out on the sofa, feet up and elevated, with a cold cloth over his eyes. Emma hugged him, rubbing her face into the worn wool at his shoulder and he took the time to drop a kiss to the top of her head. Soon she’d be too tall for that. With Martin’s scolding in the back of his head, Jon opted to sit beside his legs instead of kneeling on the floor, taking a warm hand in his own. “Hayati.” 

“...Emma, I tol’you, darling…” Gravelly, ruined from coughing, and Jon interrupted. 

“I was already on the way when she called.” Gently, Jon rubbed his thumb in tiny circles over his skin and Martin sighed, shaking a wet cough loose from somewhere deep in his chest. “That sounds awful, love.” 

“He fainted.” Jon pushed all the concern away, turning all his sharp attention to his husband. 

“...li’l dizzy, that’s all.” Sentences short, leaving him gasping, and Jon didn’t have to _Know_ that his fever was climbing as it was wont to do in the evenings, instead pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead. He kept his frowning to himself. 

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel any better.” He removed the flannel and used it to wipe down his face, his throat, the bit of his chest peeking from under his tee. No binder, he knew better, but still. “You’re burning up.” Bless her, Emma appeared with tea and medicine and Jon maneuvered himself and a protesting Martin so he could curl up against him instead. He was a furnace, oozing heat, and even Jon who always ran so cold, began to sweat. “Oh, Hayati.” Murmuring a few more soft things, he swept the cloth over the back of his neck. 

“Jon…” carefully, he drew in another measure of air, barely a lungful. “Don’... _ha_ , feel well.”

“I know, love, I know. It’s alright.” Jon peppered his cheek with kisses, accepting the pills and tea, cajoling Martin into downing both before burying fingers in his lank hair. The tension in him relaxed as he melted further into Jon, the wheeze in his chest pronounced but he’d keep an eye on it. “Well done dad-wrangling today, Em.” 

“... _’eeey_.” Martin coughed into his elbow, hastily tossed over his face, and left it there. 

“Hush.” Once everything had a little time to work on that fever it would be straight to bed with him. (Which he never should have left in the first place). “Homework?” 

“Yes, Baba.” 

“After I put dad to bed we can order take away.” At least her face lit up at that. Martin’s last bout of illness had planted fear deep inside the both of them, but there was nothing to suggest that he hadn’t just pushed himself too far. He’d ask just what he was attempting to accomplish later, if he could remember. For now, he settled into the quiet, listening to Martin’s soft snoring of which he would adamantly deny, and debated whether or not he could be convinced to take a hit off Jon’s own inhaler. “Alright, Hayati, up you come.” In this moment, Jon wished he was strong enough to carry him up the stairs, like Martin would do in these sorts of situations with him, but he could lend him support. 

“...Couch’sfine…” 

“It isn’t.” And with no more air left to complain with, Martin focused on putting one foot in front of the other, panting heavy when Jon left him sitting on the bed to rummage for a soft set of pyjamas. He was less helpful than he wanted to be when trying to assist but before long and after another full glass of water, Jon was pulling him into his lap. 

“Mmh.” Cuddling closer. “M’sorry, Jon.” 

“Whatever for?” 

“Nng…” 

“I feel I have to ask for clarification because there’s nothing here necessitating apologies.” Tone low and even, the goal was to soothe. Accepting care was not one of Martin’s strong suits and Jon supposed he could forgive him that one minor transgression. He began smoothing a hand up and down his back. “Falling ill is no one’s fault, Habibi.” 

“Din’ have--” He broke off in another fit and Jon levered him forward so Martin could hack properly, offering another sip of water before laying down with him and wrapping him up in his arms. 

“I will always come home when you need me.” Overwhelmed and weepy from fever, tears began to slip over the bridge of his nose, soaking into the pillow, and Jon kissed them away, cupping his cheek in one hand to brush away the damp with his thumb. “Know why?” Stubborn, Martin shook his head, tucking himself beneath Jon’s chin and pulling in a shuddering breath, exhaling slow and following the steady rise and fall of his narrow chest to sleep. “Because I love you, Hayati.”


End file.
